


Burn Up in Love Love Love

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Gangbang, M/M, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-10
Updated: 2009-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss you miss you miss you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Up in Love Love Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Lies and damned lies, but at least no statistics.
> 
> If you found this page by searching the Internet for fanfiction about yourself or people you know personally, a) knock that off, man, it's bad for you, and b) you have only yourself to blame if you don't hit the back button _right now_.
> 
> Beta thanks to Iulia Mentis, Miss Molly Etc and Giddy!
> 
> This story was first posted October 31, 2007.

Jon was pretty sure that the first time he said anything about it was in an interview, which would have been a shitty way to do it if it had been a big thing. And maybe he'd been thinking of it as kind of a big thing, because that whole interview was a blank--just a blur of heat and blinding light, like the first few he'd done with the band. Afterward he couldn't remember anything but nodding and smiling and the word _Chicago_ in his own mouth. So he was pretty sure he'd said it, and after that everyone definitely _knew_, even though he couldn't remember ever saying to Ryan or to Brendon or to Spencer that he was going home to Chicago at the end of the tour.

It was obvious, anyway. Jon lived in Chicago. Jon had an apartment in Chicago. His cat was there. His family was there. When Jon went home, he went home to Chicago. That made sense.

Everything about Chicago made sense. It was a city perched across the mouth of a river, on the edge of a lake where cities belonged. The streets were laid out in a grid according to geometry and logic. There were no slot machines in the grocery stores, or the diners, or the airport. Chicago was cool and gray and _sane_, the perfect opposite of Vegas and the perfect antidote to life on tour.

Jon had been on tour, teching or playing, for what seemed like forever, and he'd been having sex with all three of his brand new bandmates--_together_\--for nearly a month, not _quite_ continuously. The sane, sensible thing to do was to go home, and that was exactly what Jon did.

* * *

The first day home was everything a first day home should be--hugging his parents at the airport, finding out that Dylan still remembered _and_ liked him, and eating _real_ pizza. Jon sent a dutiful text message, in triplicate, to Ryan and Brendon and Spencer, letting them know he'd gotten in safely.

Spencer's reply came almost instantly: _say hi to chitown for us_. Spencer had probably had his phone out, maybe texting someone else.

Ryan's came a few minutes later: _You had twenty more minutes before I was going to call and check. Thanks._ So Ryan wasn't with Spencer--of course he wasn't, he'd done nothing for the last twenty-four hours they were together but talk about how happy he was going to be to be _alone_ for a while, although it hadn't been as convincing as it possibly could be, what with him mostly saying it while naked and--

Jon snapped his phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket and forced himself to listen to what his mom was saying to him.

Brendon's reply didn't come until hours later, when Jon and Dylan were alone in Jon's apartment. The fridge was freshly stocked with groceries his mom had taken him to get on his way home, plus leftover pizza. Dylan kept running around the apartment, flinging himself into random corners, and Jon trailed after him at a slower pace, getting used to the idea of having this much space to himself. None of it moved under his feet, and nothing stank except the bag of laundry he'd brought home, and no one else's shoes (or books, or makeup kits, or video game controllers) tripped him. It was _quiet_.

The ring of his phone signaling a text message was startling; Jon jumped and Dylan bolted over to him, meowing furiously. Jon picked up the cat, and Dylan climbed up onto his shoulder while Jon read Brendon's message: _Miss us yet?_

Jon stared at the words. Dylan's paws kneaded the back of his neck, the pads cool against his skin, and then Dylan jumped down and was gone again, and Jon was still standing there, staring. Ryan and Spencer hadn't demanded any answer from him, never mind _that_ one.

Something crashed in the bedroom, accompanied by a distinctly cat-sized thump, and Dylan streaked down the hallway and past Jon to take refuge in the kitchen. Jon shoved his phone into his pocket and went to inspect the damage, reminding himself that he loved his cat.

* * *

Jon woke up sprawled out in a bed that was bigger than he was and didn't have a top on it. Dylan was curled up against his shoulder, but Jon could still stretch in every direction without hitting another solid body or a wall or protruding through a curtain. He stretched his arms up toward the ceiling and then, feeling only a little silly, stretched his legs up too, waving his hands and feet in the air like he was Dylan after some toy. Because he _could_, because he wasn't crammed into a bunk (especially not crammed into a bunk that somebody else--or two or _three_ somebodies--were also crammed into).

Jon got up and took a shower, just for the novelty of taking a shower in his own bathroom with no one else trying to turn it into a highly embarrassing slip-and-fall accident. He made coffee, and didn't realize until he was standing there watching it drip that he'd made a whole pot, and there was no one around to drink it but himself.

He drank it all anyway.

He also unpacked, and did his laundry, and organized his closet and alphabetized his DVDs, and by the time he was considering making another pot of coffee, Dylan was hiding from him behind the couch and Jon's hands were shaking a little bit. It was probably time to get out of the apartment. He could go to the mall and do some Christmas shopping. There was a Starbucks at the mall.

It already felt weird, deciding to go to the mall and then just _going_, without any of the guys trying to persuade him to go or needing to be persuaded, without having to bargain with Zack or a driver. There was nobody to argue with about which mall was best or closest, no ticking countdown to sound check, or show time, or some interview or photo shoot. All Jon had to do was find his wallet and coat, call out an apology to Dylan, and he was good to go.

He put on a hat because it was cold out and sunglasses because it was bright, but he took them both off when he got to the mall. He wasn't with Ryan or Brendon; he wouldn't cause a scene.

Jon walked around alone. Nobody crowded him or herded him or demanded that he try on these shoes or this shirt or this sparkly feather boa. Nobody tried to convince him to run up the down escalator or _not_ run up the down escalator. He didn't have to keep an eye out to make sure no one wandered off. There was no one _to_ wander off. It was just him, wandering.

Shopping was downright _efficient_ this way. Jon had presents for his whole family _and_ a coffee inside an hour and a half. He paused in front of a pet store, looking at the puppies in the window. In his head he could _hear_ Ryan bitching about puppy mills (again) while Spencer patiently pointed out (again) that it wasn't the _puppies_' fault, they needed homes too. He could see Brendon pressing his nose to the glass, begging to go in and pet them, it wasn't supporting puppy mills if they didn't _buy_ them, right?

One of the puppies stood up and wagged its tail, and that would be the moment when even Ryan's argument faltered, when Brendon declared victory and dragged him inside by the arm, Spencer following with a sidelong glance and a roll of his eyes. Jon tightened his grip on his venti cup (in this year's festive holiday sleeve) and walked away.

* * *

The next morning--afternoon, really, but Jon hadn't quite made it out of bed yet--he was snapped out of a half-dream by his phone. Jon fumbled at buttons for a few seconds and then Ryan's text message appeared: _BLT smokey cheddar on wheat and a cookie. You?_

Jon blinked at the clock. It was past one in Chicago, just after eleven in Vegas. A little early for lunch, but it was never too early for Ryan to be at Port of Subs.

Jon sat up, rubbing his stomach, and wandered into the kitchen. Dylan rubbed up against his ankles along the way, and jumped up onto the counter when Jon opened the fridge. His mouth watered when he spotted the pizza, so Jon pulled it out.

_Leftover pizza_, he texted back, and stood at the counter eating, flicking bits of congealed cheese to Dylan.

His phone chimed for another text, _atleast heat it up dude_. It took Jon a moment to realize that Ryan hadn't suddenly misplaced the shift key; the message was from Spencer.

Because he and Ryan were eating lunch together. Well, of course. No matter what Ryan said, he wouldn't stay away from Spencer for long.

Another text followed almost before he'd finished that thought, and Jon's stomach clenched.

Brendon. _No nukes!!!!!_

Jon finished his slice, and picked Dylan up. He went back to bed, leaving his phone on the counter beside the rest of the pizza.

* * *

It had gotten dark out by the time Jon woke up again, and Dylan had deserted him. He stretched out across the big empty bed and realized that nothing hurt--no there-_is_-such-a-thing-as-too-much-sex twinge anywhere--no dimly aching elbows or knees banged on headboards or bunk sides. He could probably still find a few marks on his skin if he looked for them, feel them if he pressed his fingers down hard, but the evidence was fading already.

For a second he felt like he couldn't breathe, like all the empty space around him was weight instead, pressing down on his chest. All he could think about was the time they'd all crammed into a single bunk--he'd been on the bottom and at the back, Spencer pressed up tight to his side and hanging half out the opening, Brendon and Ryan stacked on top of them--and Jon had closed his eyes and breathed and breathed, ribs and lungs laboring under Brendon's weight, Ryan's hand curling around his shoulder. The air had been warm and the smell of that many bodies in that tiny space had been like a solid thing that crawled down his throat and into him.

But he'd kept breathing, listening as Spencer's protests died down, and Brendon's I-told-you-so's went quiet. For a while after the point was proven that it was possible, they'd all just stayed there, compressed into each other. Breathing in time.

Jon turned over. He pressed his face flat into his pillow and forced himself to inhale through it, again and again until he had to turn his face aside and gasp in cool air.

He was alone, because he'd left them, because he'd come here to be alone. Because...

Because this was what it would be like when they got tired of him--when Jon fucked this thing up--and they kicked him to the curb. It was his to fuck up, after all. He was still the new guy, even seven months in, and he'd had the hang of _last hired, first fired_ since he was wearing a green apron at Starbucks.

The worst part was that he wasn't sure if he could survive the alternative, either. If he didn't fuck it up, if he actually made it work, he might just sink into them and disappear like a moth snapped up in a bonfire, not leaving so much as a trace of ash behind. He wasn't at all sure he was ready to be Jon-from-Panic, a quarter of Brendon-and-Ryan-and-Spencer-and-Jon, one more guy in a crowded bed, forever and ever and _ever_ amen.

So he'd flown away to Chicago instead, to catch a cold breath and make up his mind about what to do next.

Jon stared at the ceiling as it faded into the deepening darkness. He wouldn't have to make up his mind if he just kept doing exactly what he was doing; this was him fucking it up right here, and he knew that. This was all he had to do--just do nothing--and he could stay alone for good. Maybe it would all fall apart without him--not the band, but this other thing, this Brendon-and-Ryan-and-Spencer-and-Jon thing that wasn't Panic! at the Disco. There was a reason the other three hadn't gotten together before he came along. He was _responsible_ for the rest of them and for what they were doing together, oldest and calmest and sanest, and still the one who'd said, "I don't know, why not give it a try?" while the other three twisted themselves into knots.

Only now he was the one who wasn't trying, and that was hardly fair. He was letting them down, breaking their unspoken deal. Jon was supposed to be the reliable one--the one who showed up where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be there--and here he was lying in the dark in Chicago alone, leaving them dangling in Vegas without him.

But maybe they'd be fine. If he left Spencer and Brendon and Ryan in Vegas without him long enough, maybe they'd realize they didn't even need him--needed him to play bass and hold down that fourth controller on Mario Kart, sure, but not for anything else--and that would be that. No more worrying about fucking it up or getting sucked in forever. He'd just be a guy doing a job again, alongside some friends of his who he didn't have sex with. His life would be kind of simple again--or simpler than it had been any time in the last month, at least.

It sounded awful. All the possibilities Jon could imagine sounded awful. He closed his eyes and tried not to see any of them, tried to sleep again, but some part of his body knew it was late afternoon despite the dark, and he was wide awake now.

Jon got up and dressed on autopilot. He checked that Dylan had water, made sure that there was film in his camera, and then he went for a walk. For a long time he just wandered, bare fingers going stiff and then numb on his camera. He wasnt looking where he was going--barely seeing--but it didn't matter. He was home, he would be able to find his way back.

Every time he looked around, trying to frame a shot, all he could think was _Nothing to see here, move along_. Chicago was full of people and lights, Christmas shoppers and the inevitable tourists, music and the cacophony of cars, trains, and people. It was cold and dark and gray, and his home felt like a ghost town.

Jon went back to his apartment without taking a single shot. He put on a DVD and watched the artificial California glow on the screen, trying not to think of neon and the photogenic sharpness of the desert.

* * *

 

In the morning, Jon got up at a sensible hour, fed Dylan, and ate breakfast. He took a shower and washed his hair and actually ran a comb through it afterward. He scrubbed his fingertips through his beard and concluded that he still didn't want to shave it off, though he was going to need to trim it at some point. He got dressed in clean clothes that smelled like his place, and then he had a cup of coffee and tossed Dylan's ball for a while.

All the time, there was a pizza box on the counter next to his silent phone.

All the time--focusing on doing normal things by himself, because this was what a nice, normal, sane life _was_\--Jon felt closer to totally batshit insane than he ever had in his life. Nothing in the last seven months--nothing even in the last month--could touch this horrible feeling that his brain had cut loose from reality. Was this what it was like being totally fucked up? Concentrating like this on what you were supposed to be _doing_ and _thinking_ and _feeling_ all the time?

Dylan's ball took a funny bounce, and Dylan chased it into the kitchen sink, slipped on the slickness and went down with an awkward thump. Jon laughed out loud, alone in his kitchen. Dylan glared at him and took off with the ball in his mouth, and Jon was up and reaching for his phone before he thought twice about it.

He noticed first that the phone was dead, and then that it was in his hand and he wasn't sure who he meant to call. Except it was obvious who he meant to call; who else was he going to tell Dylan stories to? Who else did he _want_ to tell Dylan stories to, and wish he'd caught a picture for? Who did he want to be laughing with in the kitchen over coffee?

"Dumbass," Jon announced, staring down at his phone.

Because what the fuck did it _matter_ if it fell apart later, or if somewhere down the road this thing tried to eat him alive? God, it was _Brendon_ and _Spencer_ and _Ryan_, not The Foursome Relationship Monster. If this turned out to be a worse experiment than getting four dudes into one bunk--if he found he couldn't breathe, if he had to fucking tap out--he'd say so, or probably Ryan would notice before he _had_ to say so, and they'd pile out and try something else.

"Dumbass, fucking dumbass, _pussy_, fuck," Jon muttered, looking around for the phone charger.

* * *

He had a couple of dozen text messages--Ryan's stayed pretty casual, Spencer's disappeared altogether after the first two, but Brendon's got downright plaintive. _Jonny? You ok?_ was the last, and Jon scrubbed fiercely at his forehead with the heel of his hand.

It was way too early to be calling Vegas, but he sent them all a text before he could second-guess himself.

_Miss you miss you miss you. Sorry sorry sorry._

And then, because she'd left actual voice mail, he called his mom and let himself be roped into going shopping with her. Quality time.

Nobody texted him back all the time he was out with his mom.

* * *

After he'd gotten back to his apartment and Dylan had jumped in and out of every shopping bag Jon had brought back, Jon tried actually calling. Brendon first, then Spencer, then Ryan. Every single one went straight to voice mail, which meant their phones were turned off, which was maybe only fair. His turn to get no answer. Maybe they were sleeping late, and didn't want to be disturbed.

Jon turned on his computer and started looking at airfare to Vegas. He could be there tonight, couldn't he? He'd have to call, and make arrangements for Dylan--he'd have to get Dylan into a carrier, which would take time--

The doorbell rang, and for a second Jon stared blankly at the phone, trying to identify that ring tone. Then it rang again, longer, like somebody was leaning on it, and Jon realized what it was. His heart started beating faster, like maybe--maybe--

Dylan met him at the front door, tail sticking straight up, pacing as Jon turned the locks, telling himself it was probably a package or something, probably his mom, probably anyone but--

He opened the door on three boys in heavy coats, hats and scarves, and Dylan bolted right past him and out. Jon made an awkward grab in the direction he'd gone, but he'd only managed to lurch onto the threshold when Dylan popped up on Brendon's shoulder, tail swishing.

"Crisis averted," Ryan announced as Jon straightened up.

"Yeah," Jon said, blinking and staring at them. "Yeah, thank God you were there."

They all stood still, nobody moving except Dylan, nuzzling at the edge of Brendon's hat, tail-tip flicking.

"So can we come in?"

Spencer was smiling a little, with enough of his face out of his scarf for Jon to see, and it really wasn't _that_ cold, but cold enough. Jon's bare arms were all goosebumped.

"Sorry, right, come on--"

Jon backed up quickly, and Spencer followed. His hand on Jon's chest pushed him further in as Ryan and Brendon came through the door. Spencer pushed his hat off and unwound his scarf, and before Jon could look to see what Ryan and Brendon were doing--Dylan, the locks on the door, oh god, _they'd come to Chicago_\--Spencer had looped his scarf around Jon's neck and tugged him into a kiss.

Spencer's mouth was hot and his clothes were cold, and Jon shivered as Spencer pressed up against him, the scarf tight across the back of Jon's neck. He could feel the chill lingering on Spencer's clothes through his t-shirt and on his arms. He reached for Spencer and got nothing but the muffling thickness of a winter coat.

But he had Spencer's mouth, and Spencer kissed like he never wanted to do anything else, so Jon couldn't really complain. Spencer tasted like Splenda-sweet coffee and chapstick, and his lips slid waxy-slick on Jon's. As the kiss deepened, Jon remembered exactly why this had seemed like such a good idea to begin with.

He and Spence were being greedy, though--Jon pulled back a little, tipping his head back over the tight line of Spencer's scarf across the back of his neck, looking for Ryan and Brendon. He meant to look, anyway, but before he could see anything there was a cloth over his eyes--a scarf, Ryan's scarf, soft and tight-knit with an expensively subtle smell clinging to it.

Ryan said, "Gotcha."

The scarf tightened against Jon's eyes, and he could feel Ryan's hand closing into a fist, his knuckles pressed into the back of Jon's head. Ryan pulled back and Spencer pulled forward, tilting Jon's head sharply backward and baring his throat. Spencer mouthed at the underside of his jaw, the bare skin at the edge of his beard, and Jon bit down on his lip and breathed through his nose, smelling nothing but Ryan.

"You ran away from us, Jon Walker."

Ryan was speaking almost in Jon's ear, but he wasn't touching Jon anywhere but the back of his head, and even that was through the scarf. Jon could feel his presence, close behind Jon's back, but not close enough. Not touching. But _here_.

Jon swallowed, and Spencer's mouth shifted, tracing a wet path to his Adam's apple. Jon shuddered and let his mouth fall open, taking a deep breath.

"You followed me."

"_Yeah_, we did," Ryan murmured.

Suddenly he was there, pressed up tight to Jon's back--no coat blocking the feeling of Ryan's body against his, the slow grind of his hard-on against Jon's ass. Jon relaxed into Ryan and Spencer's hold, his shoulders sagging as the last little scrap of tension disappeared from his neck. He was sandwiched between them, nowhere to go, nothing to do but let them have what they'd come here for.

He felt Ryan's breath against his cheek as Ryan said, "And don't you fucking dare forget it."

Jon opened his mouth to tell Ryan he wouldn't, tell all three of them he wouldn't--where was _Brendon_, anyway?--but Spencer pressed suddenly closer, capturing Jon's mouth in another kiss. Jon's breath slid back out of him in a moan against Spencer's mouth. He felt Ryan's other hand skim over his hip and keep going, and then Spencer's hips jerked harder against his, like Ryan had pulled him closer. Jon pushed up on his toes, rubbing up against Spencer, sucking on Spencer's tongue as Ryan rocked against him from behind, the press and release of Ryan's chest against his back reminding him that he had to breathe. He took a quick gasp when Spencer's mouth parted from his, but Spence didn't let up, and Jon was drowning in them and that was _fine_, except--

Brendon said, "Hey, how freaked out is Dylan going to get about us having sex?"

Jon was reaching out before he thought. His palm felt cold and his fingers cramped--he'd been clutching Spencer's coat--because _Brendon_, Brendon was missing, Brendon's _voice_. He tried to say something, but it was lost in Spencer's mouth.

"_Spencer_," Ryan said, and Jon went still even though it wasn't his name, at just the tone of Ryan's voice. "Let Jon have his mouth back, Brendon's asking him a question."

Spencer bit down on Jon's lower lip, just hard enough to register his protest, and Jon made a noise in the back of his throat that might have been a whine. Ryan tugged sharply at the scarf, pulling Jon's head back nearly onto Ryan's shoulder, breaking him apart from Spencer. Jon gasped cold air, feeling dizzy but secure, pinned between Ryan and Spencer, Ryan holding him tight and still and exposed.

Spencer said, "Come here yourself, then."

Jon felt Ryan lean in, heard the wet sounds of them kissing practically up against his ear--he could feel their breath rush out from between their mouths against his cheek--and then there were fingers on his chin, turning his head away. Ryan's grip kept the scarf tight, but let him turn his head under Brendon's touch.

Brendon's lips just brushed his, humming at a low, mellow pitch that vibrated against Jon's lips and made him writhe a little.

"Once more, with answering," Brendon said, without pulling back, speaking against Jon's wet, tingling lips. "Is Dylan going to freak out when we get you naked?"

Jon nodded, more to feel his lips drag against Brendon's than because he meant anything by it. But--words. Dylan, sex, question, answer.

"Bathroom," Jon managed. "Put him--"

"Got it," Brendon said, and then he was _gone_.

Jon reached out blindly after him, but Ryan's hand closed on his wrist and reeled him back in, guiding his hand to Spencer's side. Jon held on, listening to Ryan and Spencer's slow kisses--unhurried, because they hadn't been apart at all. He was utterly surrounded by them, and for the moment that was enough.

Brendon called out, "Hey, you guys, there's a _bed_ in here!"

Spencer said, "Oh, _hey_, there's an idea."

Ryan made a slightly amused noise and said, "Go ahead, then."

Spencer stepped away, taking his scarf from around Jon's neck with a quick burn of friction against Jon's skin. Jon's hands tightened in his coat reflexively. Ryan pulled him back and Jon reminded himself that they were all going the same place. They'd probably get there faster if it wasn't a six-legged race. He still had Ryan pressed to his back, Ryan's hand on his wrist, and breath on his cheek. Jon let go, and Spencer was gone like Brendon, footsteps soundless on the carpeting.

Ryan's fingers slipped down, brushing the nape of Jon's neck without the scarf between. Jon shivered a little, waiting for Ryan's grip to loosen, wondering if he was supposed to ask. Ryan never explained the rules, that was part of the game.

Jon licked his lips, and got as far as "Ry?"

The scarf loosened as he spoke, sliding soft down his face, over his lip and down around his throat. Jon just had time to take a quick breath before it tightened again--not _really_ tight, but enough to make a point. Jon held his breath, waiting.

"_Don't_ you forget it," Ryan repeated, low and stern, against Jon's ear.

His teeth closed on the lobe, and Jon realized he still had his eyes closed, squeezed them tighter, and didn't move.

"Won't," he whispered, letting his breath escape him.

Ryan let go of the scarf, then, and Jon opened his eyes to see it tossed away, floating down to the ground to join Spencer's. Ryan tugged on Jon's wrist, already heading to the bedroom, and Jon followed where Ryan led him.

Spencer was sitting on the foot of Jon's bed, shimmying out of his jeans and underwear together. Brendon was kneeling behind him, already naked, nuzzling at his throat. They both paused, looking up as Ryan led Jon into the room. Brendon threw his arms into the air and fell backward, sprawling casually across Jon's unmade bed. He was gorgeous and gloriously careless, lean limbs splayed out, head thrown back, his dick blood-flushed and hard.

Jon's mouth watered a little at the sight, and Ryan's hand tightened hard on his wrist.

"I approve of your bed, Jon Walker," Brendon announced. "And I think your cat approves of me."

"He's friendly like that," Jon said, staring, and then Spencer unfolded from his spot at the foot of the bed, and slunk--there was no other word for it, his _hips_\--over to Ryan.

"You have to let go of Jon if we're going to get him naked," Spencer said, his hands at Ryan's waist. There was a quiet metal sound--belt buckle--and Spencer added, "Or if we're going to get _you_ naked."

"I bet I could manage," Ryan muttered, sounding amused.

He squeezed Jon's wrist almost to the point of pain, and Jon swallowed hard, waiting. Brendon bounced--mesmerizingly--off the bed and came over. He did something as he passed Spencer that made Spence jump and then grin, and kissed Ryan, a loud smack on the lips, and then he was prying Ryan's fingers from around Jon's wrist and tugging Jon's shirt up.

"Hi," Jon said--god, _ten minutes ago_ he'd been here alone--and raised his arms to let Brendon pulls his shirt off.

Brendon pressed a grinning kiss to Jon's mouth, moving in tight as he undid Jon's jeans, slipping the zipper down. He breathed a "hi," back and shoved them down, and then slid his hands into Jon's boxers, cupping his ass, thumbs working on Jon's skin until Jon's heart was racing, hips jerking helplessly closer to Brendon's, with just his boxers still between them. He could feel the heat of Brendon's dick against his hip. Brendon's tongue shoved into his mouth, and Brendon's fingers were sliding down--in--and Jon didn't know which way to push closer, just that he _wanted_.

"Hey," Spencer said, and there was warmth behind Jon, hands on his sides and sliding to his stomach, between him and Brendon.

Spencer's mouth brushed the back of Jon's neck, and Spencer's hands pushed Jon's boxers down, keeping carefully to either side of his dick and not touching. Spencer wasn't quite up against his back, either, which meant Spence was doing it on purpose, which meant _Ryan_\--

Jon broke his mouth from Brendon's, feeling proud of himself for figuring it out under those conditions, and looked around. Ryan was sitting on the foot of the bed, wearing nothing but a leather cuff around one wrist, watching with a small smile on his face that widened when he met Jon's eyes.

"On the bed," Ryan said, tilting his head in that direction.

Brendon made a little noise, his mouth pressing to Jon's throat as he tugged Jon tight up against himself. Spencer's hands flattened against Jon's hips, but he didn't pull Jon back. Jon let his eyes close--friction and _contact_, he was skin to skin with Brendon and he shuddered into the touch, allowing himself the tiniest push against the hard-soft of Brendon's belly.

"Brendon, come on," Ryan said. "We had a plan, remember?"

"You and your _plans_," Brendon said, his words hot against Jon's skin. "You're taking all the spontaneity out of our sex life, Ryan Ross."

"We woke up in Vegas without Jon," Spencer pointed out from behind him. "And now we're here and he's naked--that was pretty spontaneous. Or at least fast."

"That was _my_ idea," Brendon protested.

His hands stayed where they were on Jon's ass, holding Jon against himself, and the tantalizing heat of Spencer's body not quite touching at Jon's back, and _Ryan_ was _waiting_ for them over on the bed. If they laid down they could _move_.

"Maybe," Jon said. "Um--bed?"

"Weren't you just saying you _approved_ of it?" Ryan added. That was--that was _sardonic_, Jon thought, his brain fizzing with the rush of blood, all of them so close and _naked_ and _not on a bus_.

"Fine, fine, use my own words against me," Brendon huffed, but he let go of Jon and took a quick step back. Jon would have felt cold except that Spencer's hands were still there, and Spencer pressed another kiss to the nape of Jon's neck, and propelled him toward the bed.

Brendon scrambled up to sit at the head of the bed, pushing a pillow into place to lean against. He drew his knees up and splayed his legs apart, and Jon was crawling across the bed toward him--so exposed, cock and balls and ass all on display like that--even before Brendon patted the mattress between his legs.

"Turn," Brendon said, "turn, turn."

Jon got it when Brendon grabbed him by the shoulders and moved him, sitting between Brendon's legs with his back to Brendon's chest, slouching so that Brendon's dick was just heat against the small of his back. Jon splayed his own legs out and watched Ryan and Spencer, both standing at the foot of the bed.

Ryan had his hand on the back of Spencer's neck, and Spencer's hand was just as casually wrapped around Ryan's dick, stroking him slowly as they kissed.

"Don't you fucking love watching them?" Brendon breathed against Jon's ear. "They made out for like an _hour_ last night, and it sucked so bad not having anybody to watch them with."

Jon bit his lip, fighting the awful combination of jealousy and regret--for himself, for Brendon, alone with the two of them--and leaned his head back against Brendon's shoulder, running his hands up and down Brendon's thighs.

"Sorry."

"Shh," Brendon murmured, but Ryan went still at the sound of Jon's voice, stepping back from Spencer.

Spencer crawled onto the bed and knelt beside Jon, resting one hand on Brendon's knee. He leaned down for a kiss, and Jon tilted his chin up into it the best he could, sucking at Spencer's lip.

"Hey, hey," Brendon said in Jon's ear, and Jon could hear the pout.

Spencer sighed against Jon's mouth, rolled his eyes, and kissed Brendon while Jon watched. He heard the night stand drawer open and close, Ryan making an approving noise that registered distantly. Jon took one hand off Brendon's thigh, raising it to Spencer's hip, and Spencer pulled back, breaking the kiss.

"Bren, hey," he said, even as his hand closed lightly over Jon's. "Plan, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Brendon said. "Jon, put your hands on my ass."

"Um," Jon said, because he didn't have a _problem_ with grabbing Brendon's ass, just...

"Jon, put your hands on Brendon's ass," Ryan said, and Jon focused on him, standing at the end of the bed with one knee on its surface, hip and eyebrow cocked, little bottle from the drawer in his hand. "And _keep them there_."

"Oh," Jon said. Because it was Ryan, giving him that look, and apparently there was a _plan_. "Yeah."

Spencer let go of Jon's hand, and Jon reached down and back to Brendon's hips, sliding his fingers under the cheeks of Brendon's ass and squeezing, just a little. Brendon's weight wouldn't really hold his hands to the mattress, but it was enough to remind him to keep his hands where they were, and he couldn't really support his own weight now, had to lean against Brendon's chest and wait for whatever was going to happen next.

"Spence wants to fuck your mouth," Brendon murmured, breath hot against Jon's ear.

Jon looked up at Spencer, his lips parting automatically, and Spencer smiled a little, running his thumb across Jon's lower lip.

"And Ryan's going to fuck your ass," Brendon added.

Jon looked down to see Ryan shift to kneel on the mattress between Jon's feet. He rolled the bottle of lube between his palms and nudged Jon's legs wider. Jon complied the best he could. One of Ryan's hands moved to the inside of his thigh as Brendon added, "I'm going to wait until Ryan's got you all opened up and ready for me--"

"You're going to wait until everybody else is watching," Spencer said, sliding his thumb into Jon's mouth. Both of Ryan's hands were sliding up Jon's legs now. Jon shut his eyes and sucked, flicking the tip of his tongue against Spencer's skin, unable to take in the sight of them anymore.

"And I'll give everybody a hell of a show," Brendon murmured. "Because I'm going to fuck you when Ryan's done, hm?"

Not really a question, but Jon nodded anyway, and Spencer's fingers brushed along his jaw, and Ryan's fingers slid between his cheeks, dry and barely touching, all that was really possible with Jon sitting up.

"Jon," Ryan said. "Jon, look at me."

Spencer's thumb pressed down against his tongue, and Jon opened his eyes on Ryan. He took his hands away from Jon, raising them to chest height, light flashing a little on the metal studs set into the leather, and Ryan was unfastening it, because it didn't really belong on Ryan's wrist.

Ryan pulled the strap taut between his hands and then lowered it slowly. Every muscle in Jon's stomach and thighs was tensed trying not to push up and make contact, his cock hard and aching for touch. He dug his fingers into Brendon's ass, holding on tight, and felt as much as heard Brendon catching his breath. He couldn't take his eyes off Ryan's hands, but in his peripheral vision he saw Spencer's other hand close around his own cock as Spencer's thumb pulled out of Jon's mouth, dragging on his lower lip.

The leather made the lightest possible contact, sliding down the underside of Jon's cock from head to base, and Jon snapped his teeth together, holding back any sound, the insane rush of pleasure from the barely-there touch.

Ryan rubbed the leather against the base of Jon's cock, and Jon could feel the softness of it, the hard points of the metal studs, all of it skin-warm because Ryan had worn it on his wrist all the way here. Jon pushed minutely into the contact, knowing better than to move too much when he was obviously supposed to be still.

"Jon," Ryan said, and Jon forced his gaze up from his own dick, the small motions of Ryan's hands, not quite touching him directly.

Ryan smiled a little, not nearly as wicked a smile as it should have been. "When do you want to come?"

Jon's eyes snapped shut and his hips snapped up, a sharp sound escaping his throat--suddenly _Oh God so close_\--and Spencer's fingers tightened on his jaw as Ryan finally touched him, one hand squeezing hard on his cock, the other on his balls, just enough pressure--just a hint of pain--to back him away from coming right then.

"I mean," Ryan said, and he didn't order Jon to look, so Jon had to open his eyes, see Ryan still smiling that little smile. "_Now_ is an option. If that's what you want, we'll let you go first."

_First_, not only, no real mercy; Ryan and Brendon would still fuck him, and if he'd already come the feeling would be so much more intense--the best kind of intense, for a while, but it would shade into pain (the best kind of pain) long before they finished. But he could come now, now, _now_.

Ryan's hands were still on him, the leather still wrapped around him, and he could wait, too. He could wait and they'd fuck him again later, and again, and the whole question of whether he was being fucked before or after he'd come would get sort of hazy. It would be so much, and so good, and they had no bus call to worry about, no sound check. They could do whatever they wanted, as much as they wanted.

"Tell me when you want to come," Ryan said, squeezing a little, pressure-pain-pleasure. "You can choose, but whatever you say, I'm going to hold you to it. You know I'm going to hold you to it, don't you?"

Jon nodded, trying to hold Ryan's steady gaze. He did know. Ryan liked rules, especially the ones Ryan made up himself.

Jon looked up at Spencer, Spencer's dick in Spencer's hand--soon to be in Jon's mouth--Spencer's blue eyes dark as he looked down at Jon. He shifted back a little to feel Brendon behind him, Brendon's dick at his back. Both of them just watched him, waiting for him to choose.

"After," Jon said, meeting Ryan's eyes again, his voice coming out breathless and broken. "Last, after Brendon."

Ryan nodded, and Brendon's arm closed across Jon's chest, just below his throat, Brendon's hand closing on Jon's shoulder.

"A bold choice," Brendon murmured, sounding approving.

Ryan shifted his weight, sitting back on his heels, and Brendon added, "I mean, totally not a problem as long as you jerked off at least once this morning," as Ryan lowered his mouth to the head of Jon's cock.

Jon gasped, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," but Ryan only licked, delicate as a kitten, lapping at the tip, tonguing at the slit, flicking against the circumcision scar. Ryan's hand loosened up, stroking Jon's cock lightly with palm and fingers and leather and metal. Ryan's other hand was just rough enough on his balls and then slipped down, pressing behind them, just as Ryan's mouth closed on the head of Jon's cock, giving one hard, wet suck. Jon bit down on the tip of his tongue--so good, so fucking good, and he couldn't--

Brendon was licking along his ear. "Are you looking at him, Jon? Are you seeing this? Ryan's going to eat you alive, and you can't come yet. You can't, or he won't be happy with you at _all_."

Jon dug his fingernails into Brendon's ass, Brendon's fingernails dug into Jon's shoulder, and Ryan's mouth slid lower. His fingertip rocked against the spot behind Jon's balls, pleasure flowing from Ryan's hands and mouth in pulses and waves, stealing his breath. There was motion beside him--Spencer's hand on his chest, making Jon conscious of the heaving of his breath, the pounding of his heart. Spencer's hand slid down, dragging across his skin until Spencer could trace a thumbnail over Jon's nipple, and Spencer's mouth brushed the corner of his.

"_Ryan_," Jon managed, trying to warn him, because it was too much, fuck it, he couldn't _wait_.

Ryan _hummed_, something low and broken in the middle that might have been an answer, but Jon was too busy sucking desperately at Spencer's bottom lip to think, and then Ryan's hands moved, squeezed tight_tight_, trapping him right at the edge.

Jon gasped, and Ryan's hands were on his thighs but the _tight_ was still there, the cock ring buckled in place. Ryan was going to hold him to it, and Jon was already ready to beg, his dick throbbing desperately in the wet heat of Ryan's mouth.

Ryan pulled off with an obscene wet _pop_, and licked his lips slowly. They were red and shiny, and Jon could feel Spencer's breath against his cheek, Brendon's against his ear, and knew they were staring just like him.

Ryan ran the back of one hand over his mouth and pushed up onto his knees again, twisting to the side, and Jon could only stare at Ryan's profile, his dick jutting out.

"Spence," Ryan said, sounding just a little breathless himself.

"My turn?" Spencer breathed against Jon's cheek. Jon looked up at him, Spencer's blue eyes dark and intent, Spencer's teeth raking over his lower lip.

Jon nodded, letting his mouth fall open, and Spencer moved to straddle him. He stayed up on his knees--not touching Jon's cock, standing needy and helpless--but Spencer's cock was there in front of him. Jon's hands twitched with the automatic desire to reach for it, to palm his hips and pull him closer. Brendon slid his hands down to Jon's wrists, holding him still, and Spencer folded forward, leaning down for another kiss.

He kept it light, lips brushing lips, even when Jon's mouth opened for more. He balanced with one hand on Jon's shoulder, but he didn't rest his weight there, and Jon licked out, catching Spencer's lip, a taste of Spencer's tongue.

He gasped, "_Please_," when Spencer took a breath, because he needed it, needed anything to distract him from his own waiting. He needed Spencer, the taste and weight and _here_ness of him, more than Brendon at his back, more than Ryan and his rules.

"He's asking nicely, Spence, you shouldn't keep him waiting."

Spencer snorted, breath hot on Jon's lips, his thumb circling Jon's mouth. "Shouldn't keep _you_ waiting, that what you mean? You're the one who wanted to wait until Ryan was finished."

"I'm just _saying_," Brendon said, hips rocking up a little against Jon's back, his dick making glancing contact. "He did ask."

Jon licked his lip and the tip of Spencer's thumb. "I did ask."

Spencer looked down, meeting his eyes for the length of a few deep, ragged breaths--Jon could feel Ryan moving around, somewhere behind Spencer, but he couldn't look away from Spencer's gaze, and once again Brendon was silent, waiting. Brendon's thumbs stroked small circles on Jon's wrists, and Jon tilted his head forward, sucking Spencer's thumb into his mouth.

Spencer blinked a couple of times, his intent look breaking into something younger, hungrier, and he said, "Yeah, fuck yeah."

Spencer shifted closer, his thighs bracketing Jon's chest. He tipped Jon's chin up with one hand, guiding his cock to Jon's mouth with the other. He let the head rest against Jon's lips, and Jon let his eyes drift shut as he opened his mouth to it, licking first to get the taste of Spencer bitter-sharp on his tongue. He sucked softly, just at the tip, letting his mouth slide slowly forward.

He could hear Spencer panting above him, feel Brendon's breath quick and hot against his ear. Brendon's hands tightened and loosened on his wrists, and Spencer slid a hand into Jon's hair, tilting his head just right. Jon took him a little deeper, working his tongue against the underside of Spencer's cock, sucking hard and then gently, waiting for Spencer's control to snap.

Spencer made a gorgeously unsteady sound and Brendon whispered, "Look, look, Jon--"

Jon opened his eyes, looked up Spencer's body to see Ryan looking down at him, his chin hooked over Spencer's shoulder, fingers circling the base of Spencer's cock. Spencer's eyes were barely open, but they were focused on Jon, and his gaze never wavered as his hips gave their first tiny, rough jerk, pushing his cock further into Jon's mouth, making Jon take it.

Jon just relaxed and waited for it, still looking up at Spencer, at Ryan. Ryan kissed Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer pulled out a little--Jon sucked in counterpoint to the motion, trying to hold on to Spencer with his mouth, the only way he could. Then Spencer thrust sharply back in, hitting the back of Jon's throat, the first sharp sting of being _taken_. It made Jon's eyes water a little, his fingers tightening.

One of Brendon's hands came up to curl around Jon's throat, and Spencer tilted Jon's head to a better angle, tugging his hair not-quite-gently, before he thrust in again, deeper. Jon was ready this time, let out only a muffled groan as Spencer's cock shoved into him, thick and hot and cutting off his breath, his own cock aching in sympathy and need.

Brendon kissed the point of Jon's wide-open jaw, and whispered, "We're all watching you, now. You're just as pretty as a picture, Jon Walker."

Jon groaned agreement around Spencer's cock, and Spencer's hand tightened in his hair, his cock pulling out and thrusting in harder, deeper. Jon had to close his eyes, focused just on catching his breath when he could, on minding his teeth and rippling his tongue, on Spencer's cock driving in and in and into him. His mouth was sloppy-wet, and the sound of Spencer's cock moving in and out was fantastically lewd, better than anything but the sound of Spencer's breathing--breaking on names now, mostly "Jon, fuck, Jon--Jon--" but punctuated with _Bren_ and _Ry_ and orphaned consonants that might have been anything.

Jon hummed an answer to his own name, his jaw aching and his chest going tight with lost breath. When Spencer paused for a beat--a rest measure--with his cock buried in Jon's mouth and throat, Jon's nose pressed to the curly hair of his crotch, smell-taste all the same sense--Jon couldn't remember what else he could possibly want.

Spencer pulled out, then, letting Jon take a breath. Jon panted against the head of his cock, letting his lips and tongue drag slack over hot-tight skin. He looked up and found that Spencer was breathing as hard as he was, his head tipped back and his chest heaving, Ryan's fingers spread across his ribs. Ryan was still watching Jon, and he raised an eyebrow, silently challenging, and Jon nodded. Just another drag of lips against Spencer's cock, but also an answer, _yes, more, I can_.

Jon looked down to see the way Ryan's hips rocked Spencer's forward, Ryan's hand guiding Spencer's cock as it pushed back into his mouth, and then he closed his eyes and relaxed his throat. Spencer pushed deep, filling his mouth, his throat, out and in and out and in again, relentless.

"If Spencer could actually make sentences right now, he'd be telling you you're his favorite," Brendon breathed. "And that he loves you and he's going to make you waffles later and adopt your cat."

Jon couldn't not laugh, would have choked if Spencer didn't pull out a little. "Brendon, _fuck_."

Ryan added, "_Try_ not to kill anyone."

His thumb brushed Jon's lips. Jon took another quick breath and Spencer pushed back inside, all the way. Brendon licked the corner of his mouth, the stretch of his lips around Spencer's cock.

Jon moaned at the touch of Brendon's mouth, and Brendon hummed back. Something made Spencer jerk _hard_ into him and _growl_ Ryan's name. His hand tightened in Jon's hair, holding him steady and slamming into him, fucking his mouth, his throat. His words were a steady rapid-fire, "_Fuck fuck fuck_" like a drum roll.

He pulled out just when the backs of Jon's eyelids were starting to get sparkly-bright, and Jon opened his eyes enough to see Brendon's hand meet Ryan's on Spencer's cock, ten fingers sliding fast on Jon's spit. Jon tilted his head back and opened his mouth wide, waiting for it.

"Oh _yeah_."

Brendon's whisper was almost reverent, and then Spencer was coming, in Jon's mouth and on his cheek. Jon shut his eyes and felt it splattering over his face and throat as Spencer went silent but for his ragged breaths.

Jon thought about blinking--his hand shifted with the impulse to wipe his own face, and Brendon said, "No, hey, hang on."

A fingertip brushed carefully across Jon's eye, and then Ryan said, "Open your eyes."

Jon looked up just in time to see Ryan's finger disappear between his lips. Brendon's fingers tapped against Jon's jaw, and Jon turned his head, let Brendon lick his cheek, ghost a kiss against Jon's battered lips. When he let go, Jon looked back at Spencer--Ryan and Brendon's fingers were still loosely curled around his cock, stroking gently as he softened. Spence was leaning back against Ryan, utterly abandoned to them.

Jon wanted to touch too, wanted to feel, but Ryan's eyes were still on him, dark and silently warning. Jon tightened his grip on Brendon's ass. He swallowed down the taste of Spencer on his tongue and leaned forward to press his lips to the head when it appeared in the circle of Brendon's fingers. Spencer's hand shifted in his hair, petting him clumsily.

Spencer muttered, "I _am_ going to make waffles later, though."

Jon grinned, his lips feeling stiff and strange in that position. Spencer brushed Ryan and Brendon's hands away, dragging his fingers through a wet spot on Jon's throat. He licked his own fingertips clean with his eyes on Jon's, and then leaned down to kiss him again, the tip of his tongue tracing the circle of Jon's lips. Jon closed his eyes, relaxing against Brendon as Spencer's hands settled on his shoulders, holding him there as if Jon had any intention of moving.

Jon was just starting to breathe evenly when fingers trailed up the inside of his thigh. He made a sharp noise against Spencer's mouth, and Spencer grinned and turned away, twisting to look behind him.

Ryan's fingers brushed Jon's balls, and Ryan's mouth pressed to the inside of his thigh, all hot breath and wet tongue. Jon tried to spread his legs wider, to curl his hips and give Ryan access--he was suddenly conscious again of the desperate throbbing ache of his cock. Ryan's fingers were so close.

Brendon's mouth brushed his throat, Brendon's hands on his hips held him where he was. Jon bit his lip and tried to remember to breathe.

"Move, Spence." Ryan's words were even, humid air puffing against Jon's skin.

Spencer turned back and looked down at Jon, brushing his thumb over the spot where Jon's teeth dug into his lip. "I'm enjoying the afterglow."

There was a sharp crack of palm on skin, and Spencer jumped and then leaned down to kiss Jon one more time, shaking his ass pointedly at Ryan. "But maybe _you_ want me to get out of his way?"

Jon nodded, not trusting himself to say _please_ without it spilling out and out and out, _please please please, I need it, I need this, I need him_.

But then it wasn't like they didn't know.

Spencer moved sideways, and Brendon's hands slid down to Jon's wrists again, tugging gently.

"Okay, okay, Jon, let go."

It took a few seconds for Jon to understand, another few seconds to uncurl his fingers, and then Brendon was pushing him forward a little--he was looking down at Ryan now, sprawled on his stomach between Jon's legs. Brendon scrambled out from behind him, hardly kneeing him in the head at _all_ in the process.

Brendon and Spencer each caught one of his shoulders, pulling Jon down almost flat on the bed, his shoulders propped against the pillow Brendon had been leaning on. They each took one of his half-numb hands, tucking his fingers behind his own knees, and Jon pulled his own legs up as Brendon and Spencer curled in close to him on either side.

Brendon's hand spread across his belly, pressing down just a little, and Spencer's knuckles dragged down Jon's throat, and Ryan's hands were on his ass, thumbs between his cheeks spreading him open. He felt Ryan's breath first, a hot puff on sensitive skin. He caught his breath and curled his toes in anticipation, and then Ryan's tongue pressed against his opening, wet and soft. Jon turned his head, his own mouth open, and Brendon was there, his tongue pressing inside. Jon sucked at it gratefully, a moan breaking from his throat as Ryan's tongue pushed inside him, curling and twisting, and then pulling out to trace circles around the outside.

Spencer's mouth was on his throat, and Jon had to breathe. He could feel Ryan's quick, harsh breathing against his ass, Ryan's tongue preparing him, flickering and sweet, pushing in again and then back out. Ryan's finger followed, sliding into him wet-slick and easy, Ryan's tongue still working outside. Jon dug his fingers into the tendons behind his knees. Sweat made his grip slip--but Spencer's hand caught the back of his thigh, and a second later Brendon caught the other, holding him steady. They were holding him open for Ryan, Ryan's fingers--two now, and Jon's breath was almost a sob when Ryan curled his fingertips over Jon's prostate, the sharp spike of pleasure going straight to his cock and getting _nowhere_, pounding need that would just have to wait its turn.

Brendon caught Jon's mouth in another kiss, fingers gentle on Jon's cheek, and Ryan's tongue pressed just behind his balls as Ryan worked a third finger in, slick and easy, almost, almost enough.

"Please," Jon whispered against Brendon's lips, "please please."

"Ryan," Brendon said, without moving his mouth away from Jon's. "I think he's ready for you to fuck him now."

Ryan sighed over his fingers, sliding into Jon's ass with that little twist and curl. "You think he is?"

"He is," Spencer said firmly, just as Jon managed a breathless, "I am."

"Mmmm," Ryan said, pressing a kiss to the back of Jon's thigh, the curve of his ass. He pulled his fingers nearly all the way out, and Jon felt the pressure of his thumb at his entrance and caught his breath. If Ryan was going to try...

But there was just a messy liquid sound, cold lube on hot stretched skin, and Ryan's three fingers twisting back inside, sloppy and easy. Ryan squirmed up onto his knees without taking his fingers from Jon's ass. Spencer and Brendon pulled, opening him wider, and Jon let his legs go slack, falling wide. Brendon was whispering in Jon's ear, and Jon couldn't make out anything but his voice, couldn't understand anything but Ryan's eyes on his, the slow motion of Ryan's fingers, in and out and in and out and _out_.

Jon caught his breath and then Ryan was sliding inside him. Jon caught the moment when Ryan's eyes slid shut, when _Ryan_ bit his lip, and Jon pushed himself onto Ryan's cock that little bit faster. Ryan's fingers dug into his thigh, and Ryan's hips snapped hard, his cock driving fully into Jon, a rough skid of pure feeling, and Jon would have come right then if he could, his hips jerking up into Ryan's helplessly. He was filled, connected, the sweet stretch and burn of getting fucked.

Spencer's mouth brushed the point of his jaw, and Jon turned blindly into another kiss as Ryan's cock dragged slowly out and slammed in again.

Brendon's hand was sliding lower on his belly, and Brendon said, "See? Totally ready for it."

"Shut _up_," Ryan snapped, and Jon mouthed the inevitable reply against Spencer's mouth as Brendon said brightly, "Make me."

He felt Brendon pull himself half-upright and had to look, watching the moment when their mouths met, pulling apart and meeting again as Ryan moved in him, folding him in half, breaking him apart with every thrust. Brendon was grinning between quick, wet kisses, and then his fingers brushed Jon's cock.

Jon felt his whole body jerk at the teasing touch. Ryan's rhythm stuttered for a few seconds before he drove back in, and of course Brendon had to do it again and again, every time his mouth met Ryan's. Jon was gasping, words falling out of his mouth in no order, to no purpose. Spencer's mouth brushed along his, Spencer's hand running over his chest. Jon tried to think--to make it good, rocking his hips up, clenching around Ryan--but he could barely move, pinned on every side, three on one. Ryan fucked him steadily, and Spencer stole his breath with kisses, and Brendon's fingers were tracing along the edge of the cock ring.

Jon half-accidentally bit Spencer's lip, riding an edge he couldn't fall over, and Spencer jerked back just a little, returning to press a soft kiss to Jon's mouth. Jon wanted to say it, _I can't, I can't, I can't, stop_, but Brendon's hand suddenly left him.

Jon felt it press to his chest along with Spencer's--held down by Spencer's, when he looked--and Brendon pushed awkwardly into Jon and Spencer's kiss, cheek to cheek, tongue out to meet theirs. Jon turned his head toward Brendon--toward maybe the taste of Ryan lingering in Brendon's mouth--and Ryan thrust into him again, rough and off the beat, once, twice.

"_Jon_." Ryan's voice was sharp, just a little hollow and breathless, and Jon couldn't resist picking his head up to watch. Ryan smiled suddenly, startlingly sweet, and with another snap of hips he was coming, his cock swelling and jerking in Jon's ass, his mouth falling open without a sound.

Jon spoke for him, echoing back, "Ryan, Ryan, Ryan," until Ryan went still inside him, leaning heavily against his legs.

Jon needed _more_, and he rocked up under Ryan's weight to the tiny degree that he could--he could barely _breathe_\--and clenched around him. Just a little more, a little more and he could--

"Mmm," Ryan said, and the sound was soft, but Ryan's hand closed on Jon's cock and stroked him, tight and fast, a quick burst of pleasure-punishment.

Jon's eyes squeezed shut, his head falling back against the pillow. His back arched, hips pushing into the touch even though it couldn't go anywhere, just fueled the pounding need that wouldn't be satisfied. That Ryan wouldn't allow to be satisfied.

"It is _so_ my turn now," Brendon murmured, shifting on the bed to press his cock against Jon's hip, hard and hot and _yes_, that was just what Jon needed now, Ryan was still inside him but he needed more, more, _more_.

Jon nodded against the pillow a little frantically. The heat of Spencer's soft laugh brushed against his ear, Spencer's hand sliding up his throat to cup his jaw, Ryan's hand still moving mercilessly on his cock, and more fingers--Brendon's fingers--slid down his stomach to the base of his cock, rubbing over the cock ring again. Jon moaned, turning his head to Spencer, letting Spencer swallow the sound as Brendon's cock pressed against his hip.

"My turn, my turn," Brendon half-sang. "Ryan Rosssssss, it's my _turn_."

"Uh-huh," Ryan said, sounding unconcerned, unimpressed.

Jon clenched around him again, tight as he could, and Ryan's hand lost a little of its rhythm. Jon felt Brendon squirming around and looked up to see him kissing Ryan again, muttering into his mouth.

Ryan's hand went still and then left Jon's cock to push Brendon away. "Okay, okay, your turn."

His eyes settled back on Jon's, and he said, "Breathe."

Jon nodded, closed his eyes and took a breath as best he could in that position, exhaling in a long shuddering sigh as Ryan pulled out, leaving him empty. Spencer and Brendon finally let go of Jon's legs, each tugging one of Jon's hands from behind his knee along with their own. Spencer caught Jon's hand when Brendon released it, and he sat up, pulling Jon after him by the hands.

Jon squirmed a little as he sat up--the just-fucked twinge in his ass felt good compared to the need-need-need pounding heavy in his cock, his balls drawn tight and aching in between. He shifted again and that definitely felt good, the echo of where Ryan had been, the anticipation of Brendon, and that probably meant he was cheating. He looked around for Ryan.

He was off the bed--getting rid of the condom and already holding another little packet in his hand while Brendon knelt up on the side of the bed, waiting.

Spencer's hands squeezed warningly tight on Jon's--he'd been caught anyway--but all Spencer said was, "Up, up."

Jon got clumsily up onto his knees with Spencer still holding his hands. Spencer did it faster, a graceful twist of his body, and Jon made a face at him. Spencer returned it, but he also kissed Jon when he made it up onto his knees. His grip on Jon's hand turned to rubbing, massaging the stiffness from Jon's fingers and palms.

"Oh, fuck, _Spence_." Jon gasped the words, the sensation washing over him like it was his dick Spencer was working over.

"Hold your horses," Brendon said, almost absently. "We're getting there."

Jon had to look, then, had to watch what was absorbing Brendon's attention: Ryan was rolling the condom onto him, slow, like he had to be careful. He saw the flex of Brendon's ass, the tension in his shoulders as he held himself still under Ryan's touch. Brendon had been waiting just as long as Jon. Nobody had been teasing him on purpose, but Jon knew (and knew that _Ryan_ knew) that watching was almost enough for Brendon half the time.

Ryan raised his hand to Brendon's shoulder, keeping him still just a little longer. Ryan pressed a kiss to Brendon's mouth, slow and soft--like he'd kissed Spencer before while Jon and Brendon watched--and Jon's mouth felt empty, abandoned.

Spencer's mouth brushed across his, like Spencer knew the feeling, and his hands slid up, squeezing gently on Jon's wrists and working back down to his fingers.

"If the flight had been another hour longer, they'd have fucked in the bathroom or killed each other in the aisle. Maybe the other way around."

Jon looked back at Spencer then, but Spencer was smiling.

"Missed you," he whispered, and kissed Jon again.

"Missed you," Jon echoed, and tried to hold on.

"O_kay_!" Brendon's voice was brassy-bright, nearly a shout. "Places, everyone! Places!"

Spencer laughed a little against Jon's mouth, but didn't move, or tell Jon where to go. Ryan took the spot Brendon had had first, sitting up at the head of the bed, and when he reached out both hands Spencer pushed Jon's hands toward him, handing over possession. Jon went where he was pulled, falling onto all fours with his hands on either side of Ryan's hips.

Ryan's gaze flicked over Jon's shoulder--Brendon and Spencer were on either side of him, above him. He could feel the press of Brendon's cock on his hip, Spencer's hand at the small of his back, and hear them kissing above him, Brendon muttering between small, wet sounds. He could have looked up, or over his shoulder, but he was almost nose-to-nose with Ryan. Close enough to kiss.

Jon tilted his head, leaning in just a little, and Ryan's gaze snapped back to his. Ryan's fingers pressed across Jon's lips, holding him back.

It wouldn't be that easy, of course. Ryan hadn't kissed him yet, and there was a reason for it, another one of Ryan's rules that Jon needed to figure out. He'd had Ryan's mouth on his dick and his ass and all over the place, and Ryan had kissed Brendon, kissed Spencer, but not Jon. They'd come after him--come all this way--but Ryan--

Ryan had told him not to dare forget it, and maybe that was the answer after all, maybe it was as simple as that.

Brendon and Spencer each had a hand on his ass, their fingers stroking between his cheeks, and he was still slick and ready from Ryan, opened up just like Brendon had wanted him. He didn't have a hell of a lot of time to say anything before he was really, really distracted.

"Ryan," Jon said softly. "I ran away and you chased me."

Ryan didn't nod, but his eyelids lowered a little, acknowledging. Jon was on the right track.

He smiled, only a little shaky. "You didn't come all this way _not_ to kiss me, did you?"

Ryan smiled back, sudden and sure, and his fingers slid away from Jon's mouth, his palm pressing to Jon's cheek.

"Of course not," Ryan whispered, and he kissed the corner of Jon's mouth first, light and off-center.

Fingers pushed into Jon, Brendon's and Spencer's, slick and twisting over each other, knuckles and curling fingertips and Jon's breath shuddered out of him, into Ryan's mouth. Ryan's hand shifted to the back of his neck, squeezing gently, steadying, and Ryan's tongue pushed into his mouth as Brendon and Spencer's fingers kept moving in his ass. Jon wanted to tell them they didn't need to, he was _ready_, but Ryan's mouth covered his and it wasn't like they didn't know. He rocked back and forth a little on his hands and knees--able to _move_ a little now--between their hands and Ryan's mouth and the steady throb of blood in his cock. He needed, needed Brendon, because after Brendon--

Their fingers eased out of him, and Jon made a small, broken sound against Ryan's lips, felt Ryan smile, Ryan's fingers in his hair.

"Love you," Ryan whispered against his mouth. "God, you're gorgeous like this."

Jon felt Brendon moving behind him, Spencer's hand still on the small of his back, pushing down just a little to make him arch. He pressed his face to Ryan's throat, hiding his eyes and mouthing at Ryan's skin, the faint taste of sweat at the base of his throat.

Brendon's hand settled on his ass, spreading him open, and Ryan's hand tightened on the back of his neck--Ryan would have a great view--as Spencer's stroked up and down his spine. He felt the head of Brendon's cock against his ass, a second's hesitation, and then Brendon pushed into him in a fast, steady thrust. Jon's mouth fell open, his teeth and tongue bared against Ryan's throat.

Brendon _wriggled_, his hips shifting against Jon's ass, his cock shifting inside Jon's ass--pushed deep deep at this angle, filling him. "Oh, Jon Jon Jon Jon _Jon_, you are _completely_ my favorite, okay? Forever and _ever_."

Jon picked his head up enough to waste a breath on a laugh, and Ryan caught his mouth in a kiss. Jon sucked at Ryan's tongue as Brendon pulled out, painstakingly slow, and when he pushed back in Jon had to break away and breathe again, panting harshly. Out again, faster, Ryan's teeth closing gently on Jon's lower lip, and in at _oh God_ exactly the right angle.

Jon's arms trembled under him, every muscle pulled tight. All he had to do was shift his weight to one hand and reach down with the other. All he had to do was reach for his own cock, and he needed, he couldn't _wait_.

"Ryan," he gasped, "Ryan, Ryan."

"No," Brendon said, pulling out slowly, "close, but try again."

Jon squeezed his eyes shut. "Bren, please--Ryan, I need to, I can't--"

Brendon slammed back in, hard, at exactly that angle again, and Jon was going to _die_, heart pounding and pumping all the blood in his body straight to his cock. Jon was panting, his mouth brushing over Ryan's without any kind of finesse. "Please, please, Ry, _please_."

"Please what," Ryan murmured. "Tell me what you need."

Brendon thrust in hard, shoving Jon forward on the bed. His shoulders landed against Ryan's--too close to kiss now, and Jon pressed open-mouthed kisses to Ryan's cheek and throat. "I need to come. Need you to let me."

"Mmm." Ryan's hands were together on Jon's head now, thumbs stroking together. "I told you I wouldn't. I told you I'd hold you to it."

He _had_, but Jon _couldn't_, he needed this, needed it now, he was pushing back into every thrust of Brendon's cock. Brendon was moving fast now, giving Jon no time to catch his breath or brace himself, just more and more and more.

"Ry," Jon gasped, "I can't, I can't."

Ryan tugged his head back by the hair, forcing his neck into a tight arch, and kissed him softly. "Tell me why I should let you."

Jon's breath escaped him on a sob--he couldn't answer _riddles_, he could barely _breathe_\--Brendon was so good, so very good, and he couldn't wait anymore. "Because I--" Jon had to swallow spit, catch a breath, "I need you to. I need, Ry, I--"

"Oh, well," Ryan murmured. "If you _need_ me to."

His voice was even, and Jon couldn't tell whether it was a yes or no until Ryan added, "Brendon, hold still for him."

"Oh," Brendon said, "Oh fuck _yeah_, Ry. _Yes_." Brendon thrust all the way in and settled both hands on Jon's hips, pulling him back tight onto Brendon's cock, holding him there.

"Spence," Ryan said.

Jon felt movement beside him, and then fingers, and then _tongue_ on his cock, Spencer's _mouth_. He couldn't breathe at all, holding perfectly still--so close, so close--and he wasn't going to have to wait, in just a second he wasn't going to have to wait.

Ryan's hand brushed down his side, down to his cock, and there was a brief touch, pressure through leather, the cock ring _tightening_. Jon made a desperate noise of protest, his hips rocking between Brendon's cock and Spencer's mouth--now, _now_, and then the constriction was gone and the leather was just one more touch. Spencer sucked softly at his cock, and Brendon rocked into him, and Ryan pressed a kiss to his mouth.

He could feel it approaching at last, like it had a long way to go, electricity rushing in from every part of his body, hands and toes and down his spine, centering in his dick and finally, finally Jon was coming.

He was conscious of things, distantly--the rise and fall of Brendon's voice, and Spencer's mouth working, and then Spencer's hand, and Ryan's mouth always under his, Ryan licking into his mouth. Jon dropped his head again, forehead on Ryan's shoulder, and Ryan said, "Spence, Spence, here."

The sound of their kiss was sloppy wet, and Jon twisted his face toward them, dragged his eyes open. He could see their tongues moving between their mouths, see the trail of wetness down from the corner of Spencer's mouth to his chin.

"Hey," Brendon said, emphasizing the sound with a tiny thrust. "Spencer, hey, me next."

Spencer pulled away from Ryan and Jon felt him shifting back toward Brendon. Ryan squirmed down, slouching to get his face level with Jon's, and kissed him open-mouthed, letting Jon taste himself on Ryan's tongue. Jon groaned into Ryan's mouth, and above him Brendon said, "You taste good and you feel _better_, God, _Jon_."

Jon squeezed his eyes shut, and Brendon was moving in him, just rocking back and forth at first, then thrusting shallowly, and the drag and push of him was too much now in a whole different way. Good, good, good and nothing to distract him from this, Brendon in his ass, pushing him further and further past the edge he was already over.

There was nothing to do but take it, lean into Ryan and let Brendon have him, let the feeling drown him. He gasped when Ryan let him breathe, his whole body so heavy that nothing could move him but Brendon, already inside him.

Brendon pushed faster, faster, and Jon could feel Ryan's hands on his shoulders, bracing him up, holding him in place.

"Almost," Ryan whispered. "Almost, now."

Jon nodded vaguely, because it didn't mean anything. Brendon would finish when Brendon was finished. The pleasure had a fine edge of pain now, low and sweet.

Brendon's voice was small as he said, "_Oh_."

He was deep inside, and Jon could feel everything--every pulse of Brendon's orgasm, Brendon's fingers on his hips, the shift of weight on the mattress that meant Spencer was pressing closer to Brendon. Ryan was kissing his eyelids, brushing hair off his forehead, whispering, "Good, so good."

There was a mouth at the back of his neck--Spencer--and Brendon said, "Okay, okay yeah," and pulled out, not quite slowly enough.

Jon made a weak noise of protest, but Spencer was pulling him down to lie on his side, his back pressed up against Spencer's front, and Ryan scooted down to lie stretched beside him, shifting the pillow so Jon could share it. Jon saw Brendon going away, and his hand reached out for him automatically, and, hey, he had his _hands_.

Jon cupped Ryan's cheek, ran a hand down his throat, and Ryan smiled and stretched under Jon's touch. Spencer's hand lay on Jon's stomach, and Jon reached down to it, tangling his fingers between Spencer's, able to reach and touch wherever he wanted, and Spencer pressed a kiss to his shoulder and squirmed minutely closer.

From the bathroom, Brendon yelled, "Jon, there is a cat in your sink!"

"S'Dylan," Jon mumbled, even though he knew Brendon knew that, and a minute later Brendon was climbing onto the bed, fitting himself up against Ryan's other side, throwing his leg across Ryan's thighs so that his knee bumped up against Jon's. Dylan gave a mildly irritated meow and then picked his way across shoulders and arms to jam himself into a nonexistent space on the pillow beside Jon's head. Jon trailed his hand down Brendon's leg, then reached up and sunk his fingers into Dylan's fur. Dylan purred under his hand and Spencer nuzzled into his shoulder, and the bed was so crowded Jon didn't think he could take a deep breath without pushing someone out.

"So, hey, Jon," Ryan murmured. "How's Chicago?"

Jon smiled and let his eyes close. "Good. Better."

"_Best_," Brendon said, and Jon let him have the last word.


End file.
